


Now Your Time is Up

by RazzBerrieCharm



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: A little angst, Gen, Maybe angst, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RazzBerrieCharm/pseuds/RazzBerrieCharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Washington cannot go to sleep.<br/>Wait-former Agent Washington cannot go to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now Your Time is Up

             Agent Washington cannot go to sleep.

             Wait- _former_ Agent Washington cannot go to sleep. He keeps forgetting that little detail.

             His clammy hands keep shoving and yanking his bed sheets back and forth. Like right now, back and forth. It was the only way to keep his hands from twitching every now and then. He glances at his obnoxiously bright clock-why the hell are the numbers red?-and groaned for the twenty-third time-or was it thirty-second? He groaned again as his imagination gladly remind him of how his alarm would sound in the next few hours.

             It was only one o’clock-wait, no, it was one fucking o’ two. In the stupid morning.  He abruptly stood up, hitting his lamp-was he that close to the lamp?-and began rubbing his scarred face. His calloused fingers didn’t seem right on his face, so he quickly placed them next to his thighs. He glanced around his room, over and over again. Maybe something will tell him to go back to bed. Not that stupid alarm, though. So why does it keep playing in his head?

             Maybe something will tell him that he wasn’t on the MOI anymore.

             Maybe something will tell him that the blue guy didn’t die inside of him.

             Maybe-just maybe-someone will tell him that he wasn’t fighting alongside the most inexperience group of soldiers he had ever met.

             Hell, maybe someone will tell him to calm down. Take a vacation. Use that 401K he kept hearing about.

             Just-maybe, for God’s sake-he can fucking go to sleep.

             It was over. He is not a soldier any-FUCKING-more. Washin-David!

             He took in the deepest breath he could take-that hour-and let it out in the most depressing cry he has ever heard. He is not Washington anymore. David. His name is David Washington-no, NO! He remembers his last name. His REAL last name. He ran his hand through his sweaty hair, probably for the umpteenth time-fifty-three, actually-and calmly-really?-found his breath. Breathe in. Ok. Not that hard. And keep that stupid alarm out of mind’s way.

              Ok. Now, breathe out. Out. Now-shit-

              He was growing dizzy-room won’t FUCKING stop spinning-as he forgot to breath. He quickly took in another breath. Ok-ok. David-Wash-NO-DAVID finally got his breathing right. Except, his breathing was becoming more frantic by every second.

              Now he’s hyperventilating-shit.

              He started to count-somehow-and began to rock himself. Ok-ok-o-ok. One-OH!  He remembered to take deep breaths while counting. Good, good. Wait-the alarm bell rings in his head, yet again. He began to take another breath.

              Ok-good-keep it up-stop. Keep counting, David. Two.

              Three.

              Four. He found himself scratching his shirt.

              Stop it. Five-folding arms is not stopping the constant scratching.

              Six. Seven.

              Seven.

              Fuck. He heard himself talking under his breath. It sounds annoying. Why is his voice annoying?  How can he live like this? How can he make his overworked brain take a breather? To relax? How can he breathe like a normal fucking human being? Why can’t he sleep in his own goddam apartment? His new apartment? His new home? Why? Just FUCKING WHY?

              And count to fucking eight, dumbass!

              David slid off his bed, falling un-majestically to the ground. He held his throat, slowly rubbing his neck-lum-lumponthethroatlumponthethroat- as he started his breathing exercise again. Right after he forgets the sound of his alarm clock ringing in his ears-why is it so loud? He pulled down his ear lobes; yanking, not hard-not yet-and rocked back and forth on the ground. Laying miserably on his side, back and forth. Back and forth.

              He stops, and in a frenzy, ran out of his room. He bumped into the door, coffee table, and kitchen wall-really??-before he collapsed on the kitchen floor. Cold and hard, David-Washing-no-DA-DAVID curled into fetal position while clutching-was he not wearing sweats?-his shorts. His legs and arms-he’s wearing a t-shirt?!!-shivered at the frigid contact that it reminded his mind how to shiver-how is that a thing?it is not a thing! How can someone forget to shiver?!!

              And his stupid, incredibly loud alarm clock continues to fuck with his mind and play loud and proud-wait. He was at his kitchen. He bit his lips as he slowly look around, just to make sure. There was a sink there, the fridge over there-and his groceries were still sitting on the counter. Ok-he was definitely in the kitchen. So why can he clearly hear his alarm?

              Tilting his head towards his room, he told himself that the alarm should have been louder in there. Right? It was loud. And annoying. Not as annoying as his own voice-

              Wait-there it is again!

              Wait-wait. Wait. AGAIN!

              Flinching-was he flinching the whole time?-David-Wash-erratically flew back to his room. He scanned every corner and space for his alarm. The digital clock glowed red-has it been only five minutes?!!! There was no way it could have rang. Righ-

              THERE IT IS!!

              Washington desperately threw his bed covers, opened his closet, and emptied his drawers. The sound was definitely not coming from his clock. But he pulled the plug anyway-

              WHERE IS IT COMING FROM?!!

              He can hear it, but not as loudly as before-CHIRST!         

              With a racing heart, he fumbled his way out the room. He clutch his shirt-not Kevlar-to try to calm his beating heart. Wash tried to do another round of breathing exercise but to no avail. That sound just KEEPS PLAYING SOMEWHERE IN THIS STUPID BUIDLING!!

               How can he sleep? How can he breathe? How can he walk? Why is he here? How can he know that the sound is real? What if this is another panic attack? What if he can’t go back before the war? What if-

_-dies I say-_

                Wash stopped. Stopped blinking, breathing, moving-

_-OW WOW-_

                He didn’t want to believe it. He slowly approached his kitchen.

_-hen the lad-_

                He was close. Wash was damn near close-

_BOW CHICKA WOW WOW!-_

                What?

_Cause they know I treat them right!_

                WHAT!??

                Wash narrowed his eyes at the fridge. Wa-Did the sound come from there? He strained himself to remember the last time he opened it. The newly bought groceries were still sitting on the counter, so the possibility of him opening the fridge recently was incredibly low. Yet, he doesn’t remember any sound like that coming from-

                _BOW CHICKA BOW WOW!_

                Seriously, why is his fridge singing?!!

                _When I think about you I say!_

Hold on-

                _BOW CHICKA WOW WOW WOW!_

No fucking way-

                _CAUSE I KNOW YOU'RE OUTTA SIGHT!_

                Wash heard it before. On their way to rescue Epsilon. On their way to help Carolina and Church. On Chorus. On-everywhere! Tucker would sing-pretty well-that dumb song anywhe-WHY IS IT COMING FROM THE FRIDGE??

                He yanked the door open, scanning the empty fridge for something that would lead him to that annoying song. Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing that could calm down Wash’s racing mind. Nothing that would help his muscles relax.

                _BOW CHICKA WOW WOW-_

The sound was coming from the freezer. He swallowed the lump on his throat and carefully opened th-

                _BOW CHICKA WOW WOW-_

                In the middle of the freezer was his phone. The same new phone he got himself as soon as he landed back on Earth. The same phone that is now showing him a picture of a half-naked Tucker grinning stupidly.

                Yep. He remembered. Everyone got a phone that day. Everyone saved each other’s number. But when Wash was busy helping Caboose for a second, Tucker, with that same stupid grin on his face, handed Wash back his phone. “It fell,” Tucker said.

                Nope. It didn’t. Probably.

                The song ended and the phone displayed the numerous amount of calls and texts Wash missed in the last few days. He noticed some were from Tucker. Others were from Carolina. Caboose. He stiffened as he noticed texts from Sarge, Simmons, Griff, Donut and Lopez-how?

                He didn’t even look at the number of voice mails left behind. Picking one, he braced himself.

_“Dude! Seriously!! Pick up!!! I need one more wingman-“_

_“TUCKER!”_

_“Caboose, shut up! I’m trying to call him!-“_

_“I want to say hi, too! And tell him about all the pickles in the jar.”_

_“After he picks up!”_

_“If he picks up. My turn next.”_

_“Carolina, c’mon. You tried all morning-OK OK! Stop looking at me like that! What I do?!”_

_“Not drinking in the bar. And looking at that blond over there the wrong wa-“_

_“WASH!! PICK UP THE PHONE!! WE’RE WAITING TO HANG OUT SINCE FOREVER! GET YOUR STIFF ASS OVER HERE!! THIS IS WHY I NEED A WINGMAN!”_

_“I think you are doing pretty great by yourself-“_

_“THERE’S PEANUTS HERE!”_

_“GODDAMIT GU-“_

_“Did he pick up?”_

_“No, Donut, he didn’t. I’m on his stupid boring voicemail.”_

_“Hey, I got something for the next time I’m trying to call him-“_

_“Griff, no, you are not inviting yourself to his apartment just to eat his food.”_

_“Look, Simmons, this guys is most likely continuing his crazy work outs. Which means he has tons of food. That I can eat. For free.”_

_“You’re an idiot.”_

_“You’re both idiots! And why is it taking this long to contact Washington?! I blame you blues-“_

_“Sarge-“_

_“Dammit, you crazy lunatic, we’re done fighting!”_

_“If we’re done fighting, where’s Wash?”_

                Wash did not expect that. Any of that. He clutched his arm and stared at the now quiet phone.

                His entire body shook as his legs fail to keep him standing. Mind is blank. Numb. He can kinda feel his hand clutching his arm, but that’s about it. Not important, though.

                These guys. These immature group of soldiers-former soldiers, Wash. His former colleague from the Project- a dear friend, Wash. They were all at the bar? Drinking at a bar. Probably without any armor or weapon. Or having insane mercs coming after them. They were all being themselves at a normal bar with actual liquor. Just as they all promised they would do when they get back.

                Nothing else for Wash to do than to cry. He just realized his eyes were teary for a while. He also just realized that he was laughing. Not loudly-wait-yep, he is laughing loudly, almost howling.

                It’s been months since they all landed back home. The same time his insomnia came back, and powerful as ever. Right, it got so bad that Wash just chucked his phone in the freezer and ignored it. The constant calling and texting made Wash fidget like crazy, especially at night. Although, that dumb song never played before…

                Wiping his tears away, and finally gaining his breath, for once, he texts Tucker.

                In his mind, his Washington mind, he could manage to skip sleep tonight. Just for tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the RVB world. I got obsessed with these losers months ago. Hopefully I did Wash justice.


End file.
